The Eighth Horcrux
by wokeuptonight
Summary: Hogwarts reopens later than usual to much fewer students. Harry runs away from school and the Order's protection to find and destroy the remaining Horcruxes and hopefully, Voldie himself. [ON HIATUS]
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_, and am not affiliated with anything even remotely close to it.

A/N: This is my first attempt at writing a fanfic (that I'm planning to follow through with, anyway), so constructive criticism is welcomed. That said, I hope you enjoy. :D

**Chapter One: Once Upon a Midnight Dreary**

A cloaked figure cut through the dense fog that hovered in Little Hangleton. From a distance, the silhouette was bald, the head so skull-like that an observer would believe that this walking shadow was that of a corpse, the layers of skin and flesh peeled off by years of decay. He would be correct, in a way. But that observer would never discover how close he was to the truth, because if he were in the way of the stranger stalking through the small town, he would be hit by a flash of green light that would instantly kill him. For tonight, Voldemort did not want to be bothered by anyone.

The Death Eaters that so worshipped his every move were dispatched to various places in the world, ready for the signal that would herald the fulfillment of their most important duties. Which was fine for Lord Voldemort; he had wanted to be alone for a while. He did not want to reflect on his need for alone time, however, and instead let his feet direct him to the former home of the mother he never knew.

The small house looked even sorrier than Voldemort remembered from the last time he passed by, almost three years ago. The roof had collapsed some time ago, and the stones were barely seen under their carpet of moss. Half of the body of the snake that used to hang from the door now lay on the steps leading to the entrance; what was left hanging swung pathetically with every gust of wind.

Stepping casually over the snake's head, Voldemort opened the door.

"Master."

Voldemort turned around to face Draco Malfoy.

"_You,"_ Voldemort hissed menacingly. "What are you doing here?"

"I brought you something." A facial twitch betrayed Draco's fear, but he kept his voice steady. Bowing low, he gestured towards what looked like a human body sprawled on a dusty sofa. Shafts of moonlight illuminated the corpse's long white hair and paper-thin skin.

"Excellent," Voldemort murmured in satisfaction. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that the young Malfoy's spine straightened with pride. "However," Voldemort continued, "you have shown a lack of willingness to give yourself wholly to my cause. I ask for nothing less, and what you have done does not measure up to what you had promised. You have not completely redeemed yourself yet."

The color left Draco's face.

"_Crucio!"_

Absolute pain coursed through Draco's body, traveling along his veins and singeing his nerves. A loud moan escaped him as he writhed on the dirty floor. His limbs splayed out violently in all directions as the sensation of a thousand knives bore themselves upon his pale body; Draco could have sworn sweating blood. His chest constricted, his heart thumped painfully past in his ribcage, and his eyeballs nearly rolled into his head as he let out screams of anguish. Then as suddenly as the pain came, it went.

"With this, Draco," Voldemort said coolly, gesturing towards Dumbledore's body, "you have bought yourself some time that could be used for improvement. Remember, however, that I do not appreciate being surprised, pleasantly or not."

"Yes, Master," Draco murmured, bowing again in an almost grudging reverence, his pale blonde hair plastered to his head with sweat. Despite his disappointment at Voldemort's reaction to his "surprise," he knew he was lucky to be alive, and Disapparated quickly.

Voldemort focused his gaze on the dead body of the old man who for years had been the bane of his existence, and his red eyes gleamed in anticipation of the triumph that lay ahead.

A/N: Okay, so it's short. But it'll be better—or at least, the story won't get any worse. R&R!


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own _Harry Potter_, but I really, really want to.

A/N: The chapter title comes from a line in _Macbeth_, which I'm studying in school. Oh yeah: Review!

**Chapter Two: Full With Horrors**

"_What the bloody hell is going on here?"_

Harry's head thudded against the window painfully at the sound of Moody's voice. He opened his eyes and adjusted the glasses that were close to slipping off his nose, looking at the shocked faces of the Weasleys as they stared out the windows of the Ministry cars they were riding.

The Dark Mark glittered mockingly at the group of robe-clad wizards that were picking their way through what was left of number 4, Privet Drive. The whole house was reduced to rubble—jagged chunks of wallpaper-covered concrete stood where the walls were, glass cabinets full of china were overturned, and the second floor of the house seemed to have fallen on the first. Harry recognized his own articles of clothing among the dusty wooden planks of what used to be his closet. In the front lawn, Aunt Petunia's precious begonias were wilted, as if bowing their heads at the demise of their caretaker.

St. Mungo's officials were loading the bodies into hovering white carriages hidden behind an untouched bush. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he recognized the hulking form of Dudley, covered in cloth, being levitated inside, followed by Uncle Vernon's equally porcine physique and Aunt Petunia's skinny one.

"Oh Harry," Hermione gasped beside him, clutching his arm. On his other side, Ron goggled at the remnants of the house.

"Bloody hell," he breathed, "they ripped your house apart."

"Not just that," Mr. Weasley said gravely, speaking from behind them. "Look around you."

For the first time since he woke up, Harry looked at his neighborhood. Similar fates met his eyes. The Dark Mark didn't just signal the end of Harry's family; it marked the massacre of every person that lived in Little Whinging the night the Death Eaters came.

People gathered in bunches in Privet Drive, pointing and gasping at the rubble of the other homes. Whole trees were uprooted, street signs and lampposts were bent, and cars were smashed. One could see the plumbing and electrical cords in the walls of the houses. Corpses were hanging from the rafters and the trees; some were petrified in vulgar positions; still others spun in the air, drool hanging from their mouths as their blank eyes stared at the overcast sky.

"Shit," was all Harry could say.

"Come on," Hermione whispered. She pulled him and Ron towards Moody and Mrs. Weasley, who were talking to some wizards dressed as Muggles.

"—got the skinny woman in the bath, those scumbags, her bath water wasn't even cold yet when we arrived—"

"—the fat kid, did you see, they ripped his stomach open. Entrails were pouring out, by the time we came he could've lost five pounds. Death Eaters might've had a good laugh with that—"

"Harry!"

Mrs. Weasley enveloped him in a comforting embrace that did nothing to quell the anger rising inside him. "You can stay with us, Harry" she said soothingly, flattening his hair as though he was a child. But Harry jerked away from her and stalked over to Moody.

"Wha—" he began, but Moody cut in.

"Stick with the Weasleys, Potter," he growled, his normal and magical eye both staring intently at Harry. "You've got no family now."

The reality of the situation forced Harry to drop to his knees beside Dudley's battered computers. The Dursleys were cruel and horrible people, but no one, in Harry's opinion, deserved to be disemboweled in his own home. _Except for a couple of people I know_, Harry thought darkly. The Dursleys may have been a thorn in his side, but they were still always _there_—besides his closest friends, they were the only constant things in his life, always spiteful, never changing. Since Dumbledore died, he was almost looking forward to being with them, if only to assure himself that the torment he had to go through meant that the Dursleys were still what they always were— his grudging family. And now—

Harry stood up and went over to Moody again.

"I'm going after him," he said simply.

Moody's magical eye widened. "Oh no you're not."

"We're going with you," Ron said, and Hermione nodded in agreement.

"Look," Moody said, a tinge of desperation in his gravelly voice, "you lot are staying with the Weasleys. It's far too risky to be out on your own, especially for underage wizards like yourselves."

"We've faced him before," Harry argued. Recklessness, or bloodthirst—he couldn't tell which—was making him do this, he knew it. But letting the feeling die down did nothing for him or anyone he cared about.

"But he was never as powerful as he is now," Moody retorted. "Harry, I know you want him to die—for your family, your friends—but you can't go on searching for Voldemort unprepared! Every single person in our world wants Voldemort gone, but the Death Eaters are dangerous, taking more risks. They have nothing to lose with their deaths, so long as they helped Voldemort come back to full power again."

"_I will kill him,"_ Harry shot back. "I will kill that bastard if it's the last thing I do."

"He has us," Hermione put in.

"And what are three teenage wizards against the most evil wizard in the world and his followers? This is _exactly_ what he wants you to do, go gallivanting on some hunting spree! He will lead you to him but before you realize where the hell you are, he would have put you in a cauldron and boiled you."

"Contrary to your belief, Harry," Tonks added, coming from behind Moody, "we _are_ doing something. Aurors are scouring the globe, working with other magical governments to locate Dark activity that might lead us to Voldemort. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement is working round the clock ensuring that everybody is safe. The Wizengamot just ruled that all convicted Death Eaters are to be put to death unless they cooperate. Every single capable person is working their arses off to find Voldemort and give him the punishment he deserves."

"I'm _capable_," Harry muttered.

But Moody and Tonks had already gone to talk to witnesses.

Harry sat down on a rock and buried his face in his hands. Hermione's hand rubbed his back soothingly. Ron just stared. The dead air was thick with unspoken condolences that no one thought would help. Ginny approached them, and Hermione stopped massaging Harry's tense muscles so Ginny can embrace him. He leaned on her shoulders as his arms came around him, allowing an insistent tear to leak through his eyelids and fall into her wavy red hair.

"You still have us, Harry," she murmured, her breath warm on his ear.

Mrs. Weasley's voice rang out from a few feet away. "Can't you do anything, Alastor? Isn't there any other protection charm that might work?"

"The magic that was invoked is gone with the death of his family, Molly," Moody intoned sagely. "The little protection he would have gotten is gone. We should've have made him return earlier," he murmured, almost to himself.

In the deep recesses of his mind, Harry vaguely recalled having heard something about this from Dumbledore before. _What was it?_ he asked himself. _Something about going back to the Dursleys so I can be protected until I turn seventeen?_

"You lot," Mr. Weasley said gruffly, gesturing to Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione. "We've got to get going if we're to go back to the Burrow by nightfall—Ministry's orders, you know."

They stood up. Harry snuck a glance at the remains of number 4 once more. What was once his—for lack of a better word—home was now being inspected by a bunch of strangers as if it were a curious-looking wart. His anger warmed him like no words of comfort ever could.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: _Harry Potter _isn't mine, unfortunately. Just this plot is.

A/N: Another chapter! My muse is moving me again. Too bad it won't budge for my schoolwork…Oh well. The chapter title's really vague. I just thought it seemed appropriate. It's the title of a Robert Frost poem, I think. Anyway. Review!

**Chapter Three: For Once, Then, Something **

The day's events weighed down on the Weasleys, even when Mrs. Weasley served them all with hot shepherd's pie back in the Burrow. Harry barely ate and retreated to Ron's room and flung himself on the cot. Everybody was considerate enough to leave him alone to stew with his thoughts, all of which were growing increasingly murderous every time he pictured Little Whinging again. Moody's discouragement at his plan to go after Voldemort did nothing for the rising indignation that rose in his throat and threatened to liberate itself in a series of Unforgivable Curses.

A few hours later, Harry heard Ron slip into his room. Harry turned towards the door. A warm glow from outside cast a square of orange light onto the bedroom floor. Shadows of feet punctuated the brightness, before the light was dimmed and Harry fell asleep.

The door slamming with the wind and a murmur of voices woke Harry up. He looked over at Ron, who was snoring and scratching his stomach. Harry went outside and tiptoed down the stairs, stopping when he had a clear view of the four visitors who were now in the Weasleys' living room.

"Terrible, Molly, absolutely terrible," Tonks said, accepting the cup of tea Mrs. Weasley passed to her. "Over four thousand Muggles dead in all. Arabella Figg too. She was found hanging from her chandelier with a noose made of her cats' tails."

"Oh dear," said Mrs. Weasley, and she put a hand to her heart. Mr. Weasley hugged her from behind.

Another figure threw back the hood of his cloak. Harry nearly screamed in shock. Long scars zigzagged across Lupin's face, and there was a patch over one hazel eye. Tonks stole one pitying look at him before looking down at the floor and twiddling her fingers.

"That's not all they did," said Lupin grimly. He threw a copy of _The Evening Prophet_ on the table. From his place Harry couldn't see what the headline was, but he didn't have to.

"Oh my God—Azkaban—" Bill gasped. "I thought the goblins were just gossipping again—didn't think it could actually happen—"

"Well, they've got the Dementors on their side now, haven't they?" Lupin muttered bitterly. "And the giants are being won over, Hagrid says a group of them from Orkney just threw their lot with Voldemort. Probably just took one yank and those prison bars were open—"

"But Azkaban is protected by more than just _bars_," Bill said. "Some Curse-Breakers must be Death Eaters, it would take an expert to get past all the protection spells and hexes that were on that place…. I did hear some of them turned…." He leaned on Fleur and closed his eyes.

Rufus Scrimgeour ran his fingers through his mane of grey hair and sighed with frustration. "How is Harry, Arthur?"

"In shock," Mr. Weasley replied gravely. "I daresay he would want to have his revenge now."

"Oh, we should have returned him there straightaway!" Mrs. Weasley said shrilly, and Scrimgeour gestured for her to lower her voice. "We just _had_ to bring him here after picking him up from King's Cross—oh Arthur, we should have brought him back to the Muggles…now the charm's gone, he had to be there before his birthday so he'd be protected till then, at least…"

Scrimgeour sighed again. "What has happened has happened," he said curtly. "All we could do now is ensure Potter's safety until Voldemort is found, convicted and locked up. I have a few security measures in mind.

"We have made this house Unplottable and removed you from the Floo network. You are not to receive visitors without being informed through owl post first. Should an emergency occur and you are not informed before the actual visit, consult the Dark detectors we are providing you." The fourth visitor, still cloaked, removed a Sneakoscope and a Foe-Glass from a carpet bag on the floor. "Continue following the safety guidelines the Ministry sent out last summer. As for the boy himself, he is not to leave this house unless you are all informed beforehand. Should he be required to move someplace else, he is to wait for his escorts before leaving. He will be an accompanied by at least one Auror and a Hit Wizard at all times." Scrimgeour drew an hour glass from his pocket and furrowed his brow. "I must leave now. Thanks for the tea, Molly. Miss Tonks, Miss Chang, your shift starts now. Goodbye."

_Miss Chang?_ Harry thought. He watched the fourth visitor finally remove her cloak and hang it on a peg. Long black hair, petite frame, almond eyes—Harry couldn't believe that his former crush was now assigned to protect him. She couldn't even Stun on her first try.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley still looked worried.

"Each shift lasts a month," Lupin said.

"Where are you going, Remus?" Bill asked, looking up from Fleur's shoulder.

"I'm off to Romania in a while—mediator for a werewolf community there," Lupin answered resignedly. "Though I doubt they will be persuaded. The only reason they didn't turn before was the trust Dumbledore showed them. Without that, they have no motivation to help us—and now Voldemort is showing them that same trust to get them to his side."

"Damn zat Voldemort," Fleur muttered. "Zis is all pointless, what 'e's doing! And all those stupeed people, zey theenk 'e's going to reward zem—"

"If we can only convince them with that, dear," Mrs. Weasley said wearily. She looked at Tonks and Cho, who were standing awkwardly on one side. "More tea?"

Harry stood up to return to Ron's room, suddenly tired. He accidentally stepped on Ginny's Pygmy Puff, Arnold. Its squeaks directed Mr. Weasley's attention to the staircase above.

"Harry?"

Cho and Tonks looked up. "Wotcher Harry," Tonks said. She grimaced and clutched at her stomach.

"Come down, Harry. Might as well have a word with you," Mrs. Weasley said.

Harry went down the remaining steps. His legs felt as though they were made of lead. He stood in front of Mrs. Weasley, carefully avoiding Cho's eyes. "What?"

Mr. Weasley sighed. Upon closer inspection, Harry thought that he aged a lot since they came back from Little Whinging. His crow's feet were more obvious and his cheeks were starting to sag a little.

"I suppose you heard everything," he said finally.

"Yes," Harry replied through gritted teeth.

"And I suppose you don't agree with the, er, new security measures."

"Damn right I don't," Harry said, and before he could stop himself, said, "If you want Voldemort dead so badly, why don't you just send me? I'm the one who's supposed to finish him off, I'm the one that prophecy's talking about!"

"Don't be irrational—" Bill started.

"I'm not being irrational!" Cho looked startled at his outburst and bit her lip. "You are! If you want Voldemort dead and the whole damn world safe, why don't you just let me have a go at him?"

"And what eef you die?" Fleur asked.

"Well, that's too bad for me then. At least I tried, instead of sitting around. If I die, I'm gonna make sure killing him was the last thing I did."

And as soon as he said it, Harry knew it was true. He was prepared to die just to get rid of Voldemort. He was prepared to endure torture just to see the regret and hurt in Voldemort's snake eyes, to see the man—no, _thing_—who murdered his family beg for his mercy—he was prepared to not grant it—

"What about your _friends_?" Bill said.

"They will understand," Harry answered. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to run off into the night and hunt his parents' killer down, wand at hand and the wind whipping his cheeks—

Bill and Fleur exchanged looks and mumbled something about "Gringotts business" before leaving the house. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a look of pity. He led his sobbing wife upstairs, leaving Harry with Tonks and Cho.

Tonks left to go to the bathroom. Harry stared at Cho.

"What are you doing here?"

"I thought you would know, having been eavesdropping," she said. "I'm working for the Ministry now."

"Oh." Harry didn't know what to think. Her hair was a little shorter and wavier, and her posture seemed to have changed with the purpose she gained since the last time he saw her. He noticed that Cho's eyes seemed to have aged faster than the rest of her body—they were now filled with determination and a fire that sent an unwanted electric shock through Harry.

"So you're…a Hit Wizard? What's that?"

"Hit Wizards work with Aurors for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Cho recited automatically. "Their job is to handle minor incidents and criminals, to hand them over to the Wizengamot or the Wizards' Council for the proper legal process." She smiled shyly. "I'm still in training. Tagging along seems to be part of that. But my supervisors thought I'd made enough progress to go on an actual mission. Why don't you sit down?" She gestured to the armchair opposite her, and Harry obeyed, asking, "What are you doing now?"

"For now I'm still studying wizard laws," she replied. Her voice was lower than before, as if the short months of her training drained the lightheartedness from it. Harry smacked himself inwardly for thinking she sounded sultry. "Being a Hit Wizard is good training for joining the Wizengamot, which is what I've always wanted. I've only gone home once since summer began, to get my things. I guess now that Dumbledore's gone, the Ministry feels like they need all the help they can get. I was surprised they accepted me; my grades were sort of unsteady. The qualifications are like those of an Auror's, but not too much emphasis on Defense Against the Dark Arts and Potions."

"I'm sure you did well," Harry said, almost robotically. _Where the hell is Tonks?_ He found it strange that he knew more about Cho in the past five minutes than in the months that they dated each other. A warm feeling spread through his body. At least she didn't seem to hate him for being an insensitive git.

"How about you?" Cho asked, her gaze steady on his face. "How are you…doing?"

"Been better," Harry replied.

"I couldn't blame you for wanting to go after Voldemort."

"You don't?" Harry was pleasantly surprised. Then, with a sinking feeling, he realized that she might be thinking of Cedric.

"Yes, I don't. You sound surprised."

"I just thought, you know…" Harry swallowed. "I mean, you never seemed like someone who would—"

"Encourage vengeance?"

"Yeah."

"Harry, everything we're doing now are acts of vengeance. Just because they're not violent doesn't mean they don't have retribution behind them."

"I guess."

Cho sighed and bit her lip again, diverting Harry's attention to her mouth. A small cut had formed on her lower lip, and her tongue quickly licked the blood off. Harry stared.

"Marietta was murdered, did you hear?" Cho said.

"No." Harry couldn't care less about Marietta, but her murder itself interested him.

"Her whole family was killed just awhile ago. Her parents were prominent in the Ministry." She rolled her eyes. "Maybe they're trying to finish us off."

The toilet flushed. Tonks's head popped in the living room. "I'm going to speak to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, all right? Don't go outside."

"We won't," Cho assured her, and Tonks ran up the stairs.

"How do you do it?" Harry burst out.

"Do what?" Cho asked him, looking anxious.

"How do you hide it? Your best friend died, and you're here, not acting like it at all! Like nothing happened! How do you do it?"

"I don't—I don't know." Cho looked down. "I thought that if I did…I mean, crying about Cedric never did me good. I guess I thought that if I acted the same way…people would…stay away." She swiped at a tear. "Besides, there is something much bigger than Marietta that's happening. She would have wanted me to be part of it."

"Cho—there's nothing wrong with showing how you feel." Harry winced, thinking that that sounded like he was defending his tantrum more than he was comforting her.

She cracked a small smile that curled at the corners in sarcasm. "Oh really?"

Harry felt a pang of guilt. "I'm-sorry-for-not-being-there-when-we-you-know-were-together," he said in a rush. He took a deep breath. "I'm really, really—"

"Go to bed, Harry. You need rest." Her words were accompanied by shining almond eyes and full, quivering lips that made Harry instantly obey—out of what, he didn't know.


End file.
